


Illusion

by glass_flamenco



Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: F/F, Genderbending, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_flamenco/pseuds/glass_flamenco
Summary: Ping is the unmanly son of a former general. Shang is his captain. Mushu is, ironically, the voice of reason. War, love and blood.





	1. Chapter 1

I must have meant to be a woman, Ping realized one day as he was helping his father feed the chickens. At the time he was only twelve; no child's body had developed yet, and boys and girls were distinguishable only by the length of their hair.  
But even then, his family knew he was not the normal little boy. His skin was too soft, as well as his hands. His black eyes were wide and his lips too pouty to look as though they belonged on a boy's face. And as he grew, the only thing that changed was his height and his voice, though it wasn't rough or commanding like most 18-year-old boys'; it was strong yet quiet at the same time.  
His father spoke very little of him to strangers and acquaintances, only mentioning him if they happened to see Ping walk by or appear at the door. Fa was kind to his son, usually—he inquired about his studies and friends (though he had few), and often asked Ping to help him with a farming task or household chore. Even to go to the market with him (although Ping wandered off and got into trouble so often now that the offer had declined a bit). But Fa Zhou did not brag about his son; for what was there to brag about?  
He was the poorest in his Kung Fu classes, so much so that Zhou had removed him after a year of training. Instead of studying the art of war, Ping preferred Chinese checkers and puzzles. When other boys wrestled in the dust and held contests of strength to win admiring glances from the girls, Ping laid in the grass and daydreamed. He read books on far away countries and learned about medicine. He was slim and soft, with a full-moon face and gently rounded chin. He was shorter than any other boy his age. He preferred the company of animals to people. Peers called him a weakling, a reject of the Fa lineage.  
And so Zhou did not brag.  
His mother and grandmother now—that's a different story. Though he'd rather spend time alone with his dog (Little Brother) and horse (Khan), Ping found it soothing to sit with his mother and grandmother and help them pick beans while listening-not listening to their quiet talk of gossip and weather and fabric. He helped cook (when his father wasn't looking) and even helped his mother in the garden.  
His life was somewhat normal, a normal routine that he could count on. It wasn't a life he wanted, but it wasn't horrible either.  
And then the drums sounded.  
Their beat reverberated over the river and trees, creating a pulse of alarm throughout the village. People gathered at the town gates as imperial horses galloped in magnificently, groomed pelts shining. One man, mounted on a pure white stallion, raked his eyes over the people like they were ants and unrolled the scroll clutched in his jeweled fingers.  
"Citizens!" He bellowed out, "I bring a proclamation from the Imperial City! The Huns have invaded China!" Woman gasped and moaned, children, sensing the danger, backed into the shadows, silent as death. Ping stood against a wall beside his father, heart beating rapidly.  
Huns? In China?  
"By order of the emperor, one man from each family must serve in the imperial army!"  
He started reading names off.  
"The Shau family!"  
A thin man walked up to him and bowed, taking the outstretched scroll handed for him. Ping closed his eyes and shook his head. No, no...  
"The Yee family!"  
Ping saw an elder man start heading towards him like a snail when a younger man stopped him and walked briskly up to the rider. "I will serve in my father's place." He announced, bowing and accepting the scroll.  
No, not father...  
"The Fa family!"  
Ping's eyes flew open and he instantly grabbed out at his father's arm. He'd stop him, and take the draft himself, save his father from an awful death...  
When his hand was slapped away. He looked up and Zhou turned away from him and laboriously made his way to the rider after freezing Ping with a glare.  
He took the scroll.  
The rider might as well just behead him now and save his father the trouble of marching halfway across China for it. It was more than a drafting letter.  
It was a death sentence.  
Ping, holding back tears of anger and humiliation, ran into the garden to hide.  
Rain had always soothed Ping; he had thought of it as cleansing of the world by the gods' tears. Or perhaps it was just ordinary water from the gray clouds above. Either way, the rain now seemed to mock him somehow, taunt him about his weakness, his spineless voice, his failures.  
He couldn't even save his own father.  
His father would leave in the morning; Ping was sure he'd never return. Why couldn't he had stopped him? But Ping knew the answer.  
Because he was powerless.  
Ping looked up and saw the silhouettes of his parents in their bedroom; his mother appeared to be crying, his father placing his hands on her shoulders. She shook him off and his father watched after her, blowing out the candle as she went.  
Ping watched with dark eyes that, slowly, gained a glint of light in them. He got up from the stone he had been sitting on for nearly the entire day and walked to the ancestral shrine.  
He was going to save his father, whether Zhou liked it or not.  
Upon entering the shrine Ping diligently sparked the candles into life and bowed down to the floor to pray when he heard something. Pausing his breath and listening, he found it to be...snoring?  
Ping stealthily stood up and balanced on tip-toe to peer behind a tombstone to see a small red lizard laying on the floor, sleeping, a tiny jet of smoke coming from its nostrils with every exhale.  
Ping's brow furrowed. "A lizard?"  
Suddenly the lizard stopped snoring and jolted awake, shaking its head and muttering.  
"Can't no one get a good nap in here? Old grandpa spirit got me bustin' ass for him all day with polishing and weeding..."  
Ping's eyes widened and he watched curiously as the lizard stood up on two hind legs and walked his long, serpent-like body over to where a small gong lay discarded. Upon picking up the gong, the lizard caught Ping's reflection in the shiny surface and whipped its long head around to meet Ping's gaze.  
They stood staring at each other for a minute before Ping said, "You can...talk?"  
"Well, I don't use many fancy terms like some do, but—" It snapped its mouth shut like a trap door, eyes bulged at what he'd just done. "Uhh..." It scratched its head with claws. "You didn't hear that from me."  
Ping smiled. "You're a talking lizard?"  
"DRAGON," it almost yelled, pointing at its teeth and tail. "I'm a DRAGON. I breath FIRE and have legs."  
"Lizards have legs. You're thinking about snakes." Ping walked around to the other side of the tombstone and knelt down until he was eye-level with it. "So what's a talking lizard doing in my family' shrine?"  
"Well, I—DRAGON." Ping stifled a laugh. "I'm...not really here," it started saying, retreating to the shadows and speaking in a ghostly voice. "I'm an illusion, a figment of your imagination...go back to bed and dream of dresses and dolls and...whatever it is girls dream..."  
Ping frowned. "I'm not a girl."  
The lizard stopped. "Fine. Whatever it is women dream about."  
"My name is Ping! I'm the only son of Fa Zhou and a boy! I will not be called a girl by a talking lizard."  
"I'M NOT A LIZARD! MUSHU IS A—"  
"Mushu?"  
The lizard stopped waving its arms.  
"Your name is Mushu? Wait a minute..."  
Ping studied the names of the family's guardians on the wall until he found what he'd been looking for. "You're a guardian?"  
"Well, I..." Mushu paused and his lips pulled back into a smile, showing small needle-sharp teeth, his golden slits flashing. "Yes...yes, I am a guardian! In fact, I am the mightiest guardian of all! I watch after your dreams at night! I whisper the wisdom you think into your head! I have guided the greatest warriors through the greatest battles! I—"  
Ping's eyebrows shot up at the last grouping of feats. "You what? You guided them through battle?"  
"I watched over their souls and necks—"  
"I'm going to battle right now."  
Mushu faltered in his powerful speech. "What?"  
"I'm gathering my things and heading off tonight to camp and training with the other men. If you're really my guardian," Ping crossed his arms, "come with me."  
"I...uh..." Mushu stumbled over his words.  
"But of course, you're probably not powerful enough to help me, are you? You'd probably get eaten by a hawk the first hour we're out on the road like most lizards are." Ping put out the incense and started walking away. "Just stay here in your cozy shrine while us real warriors are off claiming names for ourselves—"  
"I'LL GO! You should be thankful you have the powerful Mushu with you to save your sorry b-hind!"  
Ping smiled humorlessly and entered the house quietly, listening to the sounds of uneasy sleep from his parents and grandmother. He slipped into his room and placed a few changes of clothes in his sack, then snuck into his father's room, taking the draft from his nightstand.  
He proceeded to putting on the armor (which was much more tedious than expected) and tied his father's sword around his waist.  
Ping opened the doors to the stables as a flash of lightning spooked Khan as much as Ping's fierce appearance did—he managed to calm him down and mounted him, taking one last look at his home. He felt Mushu leap up onto the saddle and settle in a saddlebag comfortably.  
"Your family doesn't know?" He guessed.  
Ping just nodded. With a "Ya!" he spurred Khan through the gates.  
0*o*0  
Ping rode through the night, certain he would have a cold after the wonderful run in the cool rain. Khan sensed his urgency and unease and ran faster than he ever had before, though Ping directed him carefully over slick hills and slopes.  
Ping stopped only after Khan's breath grew dangerously short and wheezy, letting him lap up water from a nearby pool and grazing a bit before settling into a steady sleep. Ping, too anxious to sleep, sat under a tree and watched the late morning sun play with the light on the leaves. Mushu bothered him for food and Ping nodded absently, giving him a few dumplings.  
"Aren't you going to eat?" Mushu asked while scarfing down his food. Ping shook his head. His stomach felt so tight and jumpy he doubted he'd be able to keep any food down.  
"What's wrong with you? Teenage hormones got you all moody?"  
Ping shot him a glare and sighed. "I just...my father probably knows by now I stole his armor and left...he'll be furious."  
Mushu licked his scaled fingers. "'Steal'? Why didn't he give you his armor? Surely he'd be proud of his only son marching into battle for him."  
Ping winced and looked down, plucking a few strands of grass from their roots. "...I don't think he's ever been proud of me. Why would he be?"  
Mushu opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn't know what to say.  
0*o*0  
Ping arrived at camp the next day on a tired horse and set up his tent a few yards off from the others. For an hour or more he struggled with the poles and robes used to keep it upright; it ended up tilted on one side with a huge dip in the middle. But it was Ping's first time assembling a tent, and he was somewhat proud he had finished it, no matter how terrible it looked next to the perfectly assembled tents of the others.  
He left his sword in his tent and tied Khan up loosely, though he knew he wouldn't roam too far. Mushu nestled in the back of his tunic, behind his head. His scales scraped lightly against Ping's sensitive skin, making him shiver slightly before entering the main camp.  
Everywhere he looked there were men; eating, arguing, spitting, toe-picking, shouting, carrying boxes, loading weapons, carting supplies. The air was filled with grunts and grumbles and deep voices, and smelled like food, sweat and unwashed socks.  
Ping swallowed his disgust when he saw a large, overly hairy man spit onto a plate and scrub it with a dirty rag to clean it.  
He was so busy watching his surroundings he forgot to watch where he was going and ran straight into a towering wall of fat and fell back down. He looked up to see a huge guy with a bald head and a calm face gazing down at him with soft eyes.  
He stooped down and effortlessly plucked Ping from the ground and set him upright on both legs like he were a doll. Ping blushed and gave a shallow bow right as another man—short and sturdy, and walking kind of like an ape—came up behind the giant, along with a man that resembled a noodle for his skinny torso and long legs.  
"Who's the girl?" The short one asked in a gruff voice. To his horror, Ping felt his blush brighten.  
"I'm not a girl!" He squeaked out. He cleared his throat and repeated in a low voice, "I'm not a girl. I'm Fa Ping."  
"'Ping'?" The short one asked, nudging the noodle-man roughly. "Ay, Ling, you here that? Her parents named her Ping. Must look like her father."  
"Hey," Ling said back, "Don't joke about her father, Yao. You know how sensitive girly-men are." They laughed while the fat guy blinked apologetically at him.  
Ping heard Mushu whispering to him.  
"They're testing you," Mushu said. "It's what guys do. Punch him."  
"What?"  
"Just give him a punch in the arm."  
Ping shook his head but did as Mushu said and raised his arm back and brought it down, aiming for his arm. But at the last second the man shifted to the side and Ping's fist connected with his rather off-putting face.  
He toppled back a bit, and his face turned purple, his eyes narrowed.  
Oh, shit.  
Ping listened to his screaming instincts as the short man came at him and turned, running away. All three gave chase; Yao, Ling, and the Buddha man. Ling and Buddha probably to try and keep Yao from killing him to violently.  
For the second time that day, Ping ran into another person; but this wall was firm, not fat, and warm, and smelled ever so slightly of linen and pine needles. Ping looked up into a pair of fierce, if right now slightly surprised, brown eyes darker than overturned earth. His face was broad and angular, with high cheeks bones and a strong chin. His eyebrows were thick, his neck even thicker. His broad shoulders sported a royal red cape over his armor that was sightly richer than Ping's own. He could only be a year or two older than Ping, but stood almost a foot taller than him. Which meant he had a few inches of height on other men.  
The men behind Ping tried to stop; Yao tripped and fell straight against the huge pot of rice the cook had been cooking for the entire camp. Grains of rice flew everywhere and the men got into a fist fight over who had spilled it.  
Ping saw a scrawny man in royal clothes stand behind the impressive man and smirk condescendingly at him while writing something on a board with a brush.  
"Welcome to your first day, Captain Shang."  
Shang glared at him and then shifted it at Ping.  
Ping felt like he would have rather been killed by Yao.


	2. Chapter 2

Shang took a deep breath to calm his nerves. His master had always said; Breathing, Shang. Keep your chi flowing. In, out, always. He robed himself in his plain tunic and tied up his hair, ready to start the first official day of training; he regarded yesterday's rice incident a warm-up for what was to come. Shang grimaced over the complete and utter lack of discipline these men showed; they were nothing but small-town animals with limited knowledge of the art of war.  
But if anyone can train them, Shang thought as he stepped out into the morning sunrise, I can. His father believed he could, and if a great man like that thought so, it must be true.  
He heard the chatter from numerous men rise as he turned a corner and saw another brawl already on the way. Gods, couldn't they behave like men instead of children?  
Again, it was centered around that boy; Fa Ping, he had said his name was. Yesterday Shang had examined him for a moment before informing him they were not taking any children into the army. At this his face reddened.  
"I'm eighteen," he mumbled, scratching his head, his left eyebrow twitching with irritation.  
Shang found it hard to believe that the great Fa Zhou could produce only this child, who looked more like a flat-chested girl than a man.  
Today the short one, Yao, was about to punch hm in his face, most likely payback for the rice last night. Here we go.  
"Soldiers!"  
He rang out in a confident voice. The men instantly stood tall and formed in a straight line. "You will assemble swiftly and silently for my command each morning."  
Ping felt a mixture of gratitude and miniscule fear when the captain address them. Sure, it got Yao and Ling off his ass, but he had a feeling his little rice-incident was grounds for punishment.  
"You will assemble swiftly and silently for my command each morning."  
Why couldn't he have a voice like that? Deep, strong, masculine. Peeking over the protruding gut of the man next to him, Ping snuck a glance at Shang and found him taking off the thin robe that covered his torso, leaving him with only pants on. He was impressively muscled, with taut skin and broad shoulders.  
He made Ping feel like an insect.  
"Anyone who acts otherwise," Shang continued, walking down the line with a bow and quiver of arrows, "will answer to me."  
"Ooh," everyone heard Yao mutter, "tough guy."  
Shang raised an eyebrow—Ping had seen that look before—and knocked an arrow.  
"Yao." He pulled back the string and took aim at Yao's head; everyone else stood back with a surprised grunt. Ping felt panic rise in him.  
He's not actually going to—  
Shang tilted the bow up and let the arrow fly, impaling it into the wood at the top of a pole, more than twenty men tall.  
"Thank you for volunteering," Shang mockingly conveyed, setting down the weapon. "Retrieve the arrow."  
Yao looked up at the arrow and frowned, cracking his knuckles. "I'll get that arrow, pretty boy," he muttered, stepping foreward, "and I'll do it with my shirt on." Ping stopped the small chuckle that rose in his throat and asked himself why he found that funny.  
"One moment," Shang said, beckoning the same condescending man Ping had seen yesterday—Chi-Fu?-carrying a small box that had him sweating beads and struggling to walk upright. Shang opened the box and took out two huge yen-shaped stones with bands strung on each. He tied them easily to Yao's wrists.  
"This," he said, holding up the right one, "represents discipline. And this," holding up the left, "Represents strength." He let go of each; they dragged Yao down to the earth like lead. Ling and Chien-Po snickered. "You need both to reach the arrow."  
Yao looked up again at the arrow despairingly, gaining a sudden rush of energy at the challenge and jumping up onto the pole. He climbed a few feet, then came crashing down, the weights too much to handle.  
Shang frowned and took the weights off him; Yao returned to his place in line without another word. Shang raised his eyes.  
"Who wants to go next?"  
He wants us all to try it? Ping thought. He glanced over at the much more muscled Yao. If he can't do it, there's no way I can...  
As though he heard his thoughts, Shang's gaze stopped on him.  
"Ping. Come up here."  
Trying to swallow his fear, Ping stepped forward and let Shang tie the weights to each wrist. He felt uncomfortable with the captain so close to him. And bare-chested.  
Ping looked up at the arrow sitting so innocently at the top and sighed, starting to climb. He got about two yards up before his arms started to quake and burn. Those weights were heavy. He glanced down and saw the captain staring up at him with an expectant expression that seemed...amused? He was getting humor from this?  
Ping felt the embarrassment reach his limit and let his fingers slip, almost glad when his rear hit the ground. He was able to slip his thin wrists out of the bands and return to the line, out of the captain's piercing gaze.  
The only upside was that no one was able to get the arrow. The downside was that the men all seemed to take out there anger on Ping.  
Training was hell for him. Every time he tried to shoot a cannon, Ling would trip it; during every staff-training Yao would slap him; and at every mealtime Ping sat alone. He tried to think of a way to impress them—and it came to him like a bolt of lightning. He got up and searched for the weights.  
0*o*0  
Shang washed his face in the basin tiredly. Another day of disappointment. It'd been a week since the troops had started his training course. There was no doubt they were more orderly, less like bickering children and more like soldiers—but they were poor soldiers at that. They couldn't aim a bow to save their lives. Hand to hand combat was nothing more than a warm-up for him; and he took each soldier on one-on-one. The cannon training had improved, however; more dummies blown up, less tents destroyed.  
Although, he hadn't really minded when Chi-Fu's tent had been annihilated. But Chi-Fu sure did; he marched down to the training grounds and demanded to know who had done it. Shang wasn't surprised when Fa Ping grimaced into a sheepish smile and raised his hand.  
Fa Ping...  
He was the worst of them all. Slower, weaker, poor fighting skills. Shang had to explain things out to him, and even then he seemed to have a millions questions about everything that had nothing to do with their battle. What wood is the bow made of? What country do Huns come from? Is there a limit to how high birds can fly?  
Shang groaned and ran his hands over his face. He wasn't sure where exactly that last one had come from, but it had been asked, all the same.  
The boy—for Shang could not bring himself to call Ping a man—would be killed. Shang gave him two minutes to live on the battlefield, three tops. The army didn't need weaklings like him; he'd only slow them down. He'd have to send him home. In fact, it was already dawn; another sleepless night for the captain.  
He got up and dressed, his intent to send off Ping resolute when he heard cheering coming from outside. What is going on?  
He exited the tent and looked at the men crowding around the pole. Wha— A whistling headed right for him and an arrow stuck in the ground a foot from where he was standing. Shang blinked and looked up, his eyes widening at what he saw.  
Fa Ping was on top of the pole, both weights slung over his shoulders and a self-satisfied smile on his face. Shang's mouth dropped as he saluted his captain. The men cheered again and waved their fists around as he slowly made his way down the pole.  
Shang let a disbelieving smile cross his face and walked over to Ping, trying to wipe it off into the usual stoic mask he wore as an officer. He felt a strange sense of pride swell in him and forced it down.  
"Fa Ping."  
Ping's night-black eyes met his nervously. "Captain?"  
Shang gestured to the pole. "You retrieved the arrow?"  
"Aye, captain."  
"With the weights?"  
Ping nodded. Shang couldn't hold back his smile. The other troops had been trying everyday for a week to get it. He clasped Ping on the shoulder, (Gods he has scrawny shoulders), and felt the boy start at his touch and look up. Shang offered up only two words.  
"Well done."  
Ping's face turned red and he murmured something unintelligible—perhaps a thank you—before bowing his head. The troops swarmed around him, clasping arms, rough pats on the back, lewd jokes.  
After that, Shang never complained about Ping's strangeness again.  
He seemed to inspire the troops; when they shot arrows and Ping actually managed to pin one fruit to the tree, they all aimed better. When Ping landed one punch, they tried to KO their opponent. And when Ping took down the first dummy on the first try of the canon, their accuracy skyrocketed. It was probably because Ping was so scrawny; if he could do it, they could do it.  
And a few days later, Shang found Ping's strong point.  
It happened during a rainy day. The lightning and wind were so fierce that Shang had them all retire to the tents early. Many sat in the eating hall and held arm-wrestling contests and ate the food the cooks whipped up. A few held up books that Shang was sure were paintings of women.  
Ling and Yao were sitting in the corner, watched intently by Ping as they stared at a weiqi board. The two player's brows were furrowed in concentration when Yao exploded, tipping over a barrel full of rainwater.  
"Screw this game!" He steamed, stalking off. Ling scratched his head and shrugged to Ping, who took Yao's place.  
Interested, Shang watched.  
He had played weiqi many times; it was the most strategic and complex game in China, despite its simple rules. The objective was to occupy more space on the board with your stone pieces then your opponent. You can also capture your opponent's pieces to win the game. Shang was very good at.  
After ten minutes of playing, Ping had dominated Ling.  
Ling sat blank-faced at the board with his mouth hanging open. He said something and Ping threw back his head and laughed.  
Shang found himself entranced. Ping closed his eyes when he laughed, he noted. He also noticed how hard his heart was beating and how strange his face felt. He touched it; he was smiling. The thought made him frown.  
Ling tapped Ping on the shoulder and pointed over at Shang. Ping looked and met Shang's gaze.  
Shang blinked in confusion as he felt his ears turn warm and stood up suddenly, stalking away and out of the tent. He narrowed his eyes against the pellets of rain that the wind threw at him.  
He felt like a little boy getting caught red-handed; but getting caught red-handed at WHAT? He was Ping's captain, he could look at or watch whoever the hell he wanted. He had just been interested in the game; that was all. He didn't care if Ping was playing or laughing.  
Shang shook himself and stumbled into his tent, shaken in more ways then one.  
0*o*0  
As the troops did their morning forms while balancing buckets of water on their heads, Shang walked around them and examined them, straightened backs, adjusted arms. He noticed Ping was not in his usual spot; in fact, Ping wasn't anywhere.  
Shang raised an eyebrow and approached Ling and Yao.  
"Ling, Yao," he greeted formally, "Where is Ping?"  
They shrugged their shoulders. "He must have overslept," Ling offered.  
Yet something didn't settle right in Shang's gut and he decided to just go check in on him. He turned to his men and yelled, "Twelve laps around the pond, get a drink and then start on archery. I have matters to attend to."  
The men groaned but obeyed and started their laps while the captain started jogging out to the tents. It was easy to find Ping's now correctly made tent with his horse tied to a stake in the ground. The black horse was fidgeting, walking to and fro agitatedly, flicking its ears and letting out soft whinnies.  
Shang pulled back the flap of the tent and peered inside, finding everything tidy and clean. Even his own tent wasn't like this.  
There wasn't a body in there.  
The horse reared back and let out an enraged neighing, pawing the air with its hooves . It kept tugging on its ties to the west, near a thicket of trees that nestled over a creek.  
Shang walked over to the horse and met its intelligent eyes."Do you know where Ping is?" The horse let out a loud exhale and flicked its ears westward. Shang cut its ties and climbed on its back.  
The horse lurched off so fast Shang was sure he was about to fall off, but regained his handling and held on. The horse galloped over the plain to the trees and slowed down, ears pricked and eyes wide with fright.  
Shang led it almost silently through the foliage until they arrived at a gap in the trunks and leaves, giving Shang a good look at the creek and the men.  
There were four men, all dirty, scarred specimens with haunted looks in their eyes as they sat around the fire they made. One was going over a map, another with a ratty beard sharpened his sword, and a third with numerous tattoos stood over three people, all bound by ropes around their hands and feet. The first two were pretty young women who looked pale and frightened, most likely two farmer's daughters judging by their clothes.  
The third was Ping.  
Shang watched the tattooed man run his hands over one woman's trembling face and felt disgust rising in him, urging him to quietly unsheathe his sword.  
"Get you filthy hands off her!"  
Shang's breath caught when he heard Ping snarl at the man with such venom he had never heard in that quiet voice before. The man stood up and glared at him, then walked over to him lazily, grinning a near-toothless smile.  
"Whaddu say, boy?" He asked in a sickly sweet voice. He grabbed Ping by the front of his tunic and pulled him close enough to smell his rotting breath. Shang felt a growl rip through clenched teeth and tightened his grip on his sword, ready to jump out and slice the man's head off for touching Ping.  
But before he could blink the tattooed man abruptly let go of Ping, eyes wide and staggering backwards, clutching his chest as red blossomed on his shirt. A suddenly free Ping stood up and flourished the knife that each soldier had been handed out on the first day.  
The three other men were on their feet in a second; but by then Ping had run to the woman's side and cut loose both their bonds.  
"Go!" He urged them to run, "GO!"  
The women took his advice and ran like frightened deer, disappearing from sight. One man took off after them and stopped short when Ping's dagger buried itself up to the hilt in his head. Ping whipped around to face the two remaining men wielding wicked-looking blades weaponless. The men ran at him and swung their swords for his neck...  
Ping rolled out of the way at the same moment Shang leaped out of the cover of leaves and blocked their blows with his sword, kicking one away and slicing the other's arm.  
Ping had rolled away and grabbed a thick branch; now he crouched on the ground and stared at Shang with undisguised surprise.  
The man whose arm Shang had cut aimed toward Ping; Ping held up the branch and the blade bit into the bark and wood, sticking. While the man tried to pull it out, Shang stuck him in the back and he fell down instantly.  
Shang looked at Ping the moment the man with the ratty beard jumped up behind the captain with sword raised; Ping grasped the dead man's sword and swung it with the tip still lodged in the wood. The blade cut in his neck as the blunt wood cracked his skull.  
He fell as Ping and Shang looked around, breathing hard.  
Shang grabbed Ping's arm and his sword and led the soldier up the slope towards his horse.  
"Um," Ping started nervously, "those girls—"  
"Are you all right?" Shang demanded, inspecting him closely. His plain tunic hung loosely on his body, exposing a shoulder. He had a few bruises on his wrists where they had tied the rope, and a bleeding scratch on his hand, probably accidentally self-inflicted when he was cutting through the rope. Shang found himself being drawn to his neck and the dip of his shoulder, then tearing his eyes away angrily.  
"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Shouldn't we go after the girls—"  
"How did they capture you?" Shang asked, calmer now. Ping blinked.  
"I was going to fill up my canteen with the water from the flowing creek rather then the pond when I..." He turned a bit pink and scratched his head in a familiar gesture that Shang had become use to. "I tripped and fell down the slope right into their camp. I didn't have a chance."  
Shang breathed in deeply and ran a hand through his hair that had begun falling loose since the fight. "I see," he murmured, gazing down at Ping. He pointed at Ping's belt around his tunic. "Your clothes are practically falling off," he mentioned helpfully.  
Ping looked down and noticed his disarray of clothes and chuckled, embarrassed. He unwound the wrapping and the tunic parted to reveal a toned, slim build. Again, that strange glow started to fill Shang until he felt like light was coming from his pores. I put that muscle there, he thought proudly. He watch with steady eyes as Ping struggled to tie the loop. He looked up at Shang apologetically when he raised an eyebrow.  
"M-my fingers are kind of clumsy...they feel heavy after being tied up for so long."  
Shang sported a microscopic smile as he gently slapped Ping's hands away and stood close to him, looking down at his belt and quickly fastening his tunic.  
His eyes flickered up to Ping's face, even redder than before and eyes shyly avoiding Shang's. So cute.  
His hands stopped along with his breath. Ping looked up at him questioningly and cocked his head to the side. Shang stood looking at him vacantly.  
What? A loud, angry voice demanded. WHAT did you just think? You called another man 'cute'! What is WRONG with you?  
"Shang?"  
A soothing voice calling out his name brought him back to earth and he blinked rapidly before focusing on Ping, still maintaining his grip on his belt.  
"Um, is there something wrong, Captain?"  
He was so close. So very close. Shang could feel his breath hitting his neck. His skin looked so soft...  
Get away from him!  
Shang jerkily let go of Ping's finished belt and stood back, searching for an excuse.  
"I...I..." He grew angry with himself for his idiocy. "G-get back to camp! And don't tell the other soldiers about this; they'll be out hunting for those girls." And if you tell them how I acted, Shang thought sullenly as Ping nodded his head and ran for his horse, petting its neck and mane, someone who's NOT as naïve as you might suspect something.


	3. Chapter 3

Ping skipped supper today; he wasn't feeling hungry, though he did grab an apple to take with him. He walked through the camp, marveling at the quiet; with everyone eating, the only sounds were the occasional burps and the wind ruffling the tents.  
He found himself walking automatically to the stables to visit Khan. He hadn't ridden him in a while; perhaps they'd go on short ride to the ravine and back. Ping could shoot arrows from his saddle, a skill in which Shang had commented on about his natural ability for.  
Shang...  
Ping frowned when he thought of the captain. He didn't usually frown when the older man came to mind, in fact Ping suddenly felt a lot brighter when he did, but recently...  
He felt like Shang was avoiding him.  
When they ran up the mountain each morning, Shang would usually run next to or near him; now Ping couldn't get close to him, whether it was because Shang was way in front or shifted away. And even in archery; when Shang made his rounds to check their aim, he barely looked at Ping's shots; he didn't even look at PING! The same with hand-to-hand and sword training; Shang never met his eye and offered only brusque words of encouragement, when before he would show Ping exactly what he meant.  
Ping frowned deeper in concentration. Before WHAT? When had Shang started acting so...weird?  
Ping was so deep in thought he wasn't aware that the stable hand—a man named Yuu a few years older than Shang—was feeding the horses until Ping walked straight into the water basin for the horses, splashing the drinking water on the dirt floor and soaking himself.  
(POV change)  
Shang walked behind the first row of tents after his meeting with Chi-Fu. The recent memory made him boil.  
"You think they are ready for war?" Chi-Fu sneered, looking down at the sitting captain like a teacher to a student. Shang glared at him.  
"They've completed their training with flying—"  
"Ha! 'They've completed their training.' Those boys are no more fit to be soldiers than you are to be captain. We move out when I decide me move out, and not a day sooner."  
Infuriated, Shang stood up, toppling over the stool. "Listen! You can't—"  
"Careful, Captain," Chi-Fu said slowly. "Your father may be the general, but I am the emperor's adviser. And by the way," he added, swiping the tent flap open, "I got that job on my own. You're dismissed!"  
Shang angrily left the tent after uselessly knocking the flap out of the way.  
Now he made his way back to his own tent, far away from the pompous, useless, son of a—splash. Shang paused when he heard a ruckus coming from the stables.  
He ran over to the wall and gazed in through the small opening of a window, seeing Yuu laughing almost uncontrollably, back up against the wall and hands clutching his sides as tears ran down his eyes.  
Shang's eyes widened when out of the large water basin rolled Ping, clothes sopping wet and hair hanging down in loose, drenched locks. He licked his lips and shifted for a better view and then turned away, cursing himself. For almost three days he had managed to keep a distance between himself and Ping. He thought that if he kept away from the soldier, he'd be able to make these unnatural feelings evaporate.  
But it just got worse.  
He couldn't mock-fight Ping without calling it off after a few minutes because his pants got too tight; he couldn't talk to him for too long without slipping up and embarrassing himself; he couldn't even look at him for fear he would start staring. Which he did. Several times.  
Now he couldn't resist turning back around and watching through the window, feeling disgusted with himself. I'm basically a stalker, he thought guiltily.  
Ping had dragged himself off the floor and stood grimacing, red from neck to ears.  
"I'm really sorry—"  
"Hahaha, it's fine, Ping-y boy!" Yuu chortled, slapping him on the back and wiping a tear from his eye. "What were you thinking about?"  
"Oh, nothing," Ping replied hastily, shedding off his tunic and keeping on his undershirt that clung to his chest like a second skin. Yuu resumed tossing hay to his and the other five horses.  
"Come on now, Ping. It must be something if you walked straight into the basin thinking about it."  
Shang saw Ping frown as he gathered his arms underneath his undershirt, preparing to take it off. He didn't like it when Ping frowned.  
"Well...has Captain Shang..." Shang's eyebrows went up as his name was mentioned. "Has he been acting," Ping paused for a moment, "strange?"  
Yuu hummed thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, he has been acting a tad distracted recently. I wonder why?"  
"I was trying to figure that out," Ping said, pulling off his shirt, his long torso dripping water. Shang held back a groan. The universe is screwing with me.  
Yuu shrugged and got down the riding equipment, inspecting it for tears. "Usually I'd say it was lady problems, but there aren't any ladies in this camp. Trust me, I've looked."  
"'Lady problems'?" Ping parroted.  
"Aye," Yuu nodded sagely, "lady problems. That'll get any man's mind into a frenzy. And Shang's exhibiting all the signs; distracted? Yes. Moody? Like hell's souls. And, just once, I saw a little wood in our captain's royal pants."  
Shang sucked in his breath. He'd kill Yuu. He bit his lip and looked over to Ping. He was now sitting on the floor, removing his drenched shoes and stockings, revealing slim calves and ankles. Could he get any more feminine?  
Ping gave a confused look. "'Wood'?" Yuu sighed and beckoned him closer; Ping stood up and leaned in as Yuu whispered something. Ping's eyes got as round as the full moon and blushed. Gods, that blush...Shang shook off the thought.  
"O-oh!" Ping exclaimed, studying the door of a stable stall. Shang groaned in despair and shifted his eyes towards the heavens.  
Ping cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well...it's nice that he has someone like that," he said softly. Almost to himself, he asked in a near inaudible voice, "I wonder who it is?"  
Shang felt like ripping out his hair.

"Tell ya this, though," Ping flinched when Yuu winked at him and nudged his in the bare ribcage, "Shang's special someone is probably a man."  
A shiver ran up Ping's spine. "What? Why would you say that?"  
Yuu shrugged. "Just a hunch. To be honest," He smiled, showing straight teeth, "I thought it was youfor a while."  
Ping gasped in surprised and inhaled some water, choking and coughing. Yuu whacked him on the back a few times. "M-me? Why?"  
Yuu tapped his chin. "Well, you are the captain's golden boy. First to get the arrow, first to land a hit, fastest runner of the pack. He always seemed to float near you anyway so..." Yuu waggled his eyebrows good-naturally. "But now I know that you're way too conservative to even consider it."  
Ping felt a spark of annoyance. "I'm conservative?"  
"You won't even bathe in front of the other men. You're like a..."  
Ping gritted his teeth. "'Woman'?" He supplied virulently.  
Yuu shrugged and left the stables, waving. Ping stared down at the floor, balling his hands into fists, the need to punch something welling up in his muscles.  
"Dammit!" He drove his fist through the thin wood wall and felt the tension inside him level out a bit. He pulled out his hand, now scraped and splintered, and sat down dejectedly on a bench, his head hanging low.  
What was wrong with him? He had never gotten this upset when someone had called him feminine before. Yes, it stung like a hornet each time, but he always managed to shake it off. And yet he felt this strange cluster of emotions tightening his throat and squeezing his heart, lingering.  
And Shang. He couldn't stop thinking about Shang.  
Shang's someone special...Ping tried to imagine his captain with a woman; his woman would have to be as beautiful as he is handsome, and she'd have to be smart because Shang loves talking about almost anything that interests him. She's have big hips just right for birthing babies and give him strong, healthy sons and lovely daughters and she'd make him laugh because oh gods was his smile great and she'd have to know how to cook peanut stir-fry because it's his favorite and...and...  
Ping bit his lip and forced back the tears. Getting caught crying right now would so not help with the whole womanly image thing. Why did he feel like this? He should be happy for Shang. Shang had found a...lover...  
"Ping?"  
Ping heard the voice he had been missing for the past few days ring in his ears but didn't look up; if he looked up he'd find that it was only a dream, his imagination acting up on him. And then the sound of the large door sliding close and the strong presence of someone standing right in front of him, looking down at his skinny, unattractive, unmanly figure trying to hold back tears; that was just a dream too.  
Randomly his father appeared in his thoughts, and Ping thought of how angry and worried he'd be.  
"Ping."  
A strong, warm hand landed on his shoulder and Ping stopped breathing as he tilted his head up and looked straight at Shang’s face. Wordlessly Shang lifted up Ping's hand, inspecting the minor scratches and cuts. He gingerly ran his fingers over it and started to pick out the small slivers of wood imbedded in the skin. Ping felt a bubble of insane giggles rise in him as he observed. He's left-handed. I never noticed that. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Shang picking bloody splinters out of Ping's knuckles and Ping trying to ignore the pain as he watched his captain's face. The sunset shaded Shang’s face in a light red.   
Ping had noticed that Shang had a limited array of faces; the most common one was his serious, screw-around-and-I'll-kill-you expression that he wore in front of the troops. Another was the focused, steady look on him now. But Ping remembered another one; the one after Shang had saved him from those bandits just a few days ago. When he started acing weird.  
Special someone...  
He could've sworn Shang had been blushing.  
Thought it was you for a while...  
No. Impossible.  
"Does it hurt?" Shang's ever so even voice was quiet. Ping shrugged and shook his head, even though the stinging and throbbing made him want to bite something.  
"'S fine," he mumbled awkwardly, standing up. "Thank you, Captain...I should be going."  
"Ping!" Shang called out, suddenly gripping his lean biceps and forcing the younger man to meet his eye. Shang blinked dumbly as Ping's heart tried its damnedest to break out of his ribcage. Slowly Shang let go of his arm and backed away, bringing his fingers to his chin.   
"I'm sorry!" He blurted out, turning his gaze to the wall. He flicked his eyes over to the shirtless Ping and away again, running his fingers over his face. Ping noticed for the first time how tired he looked. "Just...I'm not good at apologizing..." Shang went on gruffly. "I, well, you...and..."  
Ping felt his heart flutter and took a step towards him, clasping him on the shoulder. Shang looked down at him, surprised. The sunset must’ve been strong that evening, because Shang’s entire face was rosy with its rays.   
"You don't need to apologize, Captain Shang." Ping let himself smile and Shang sucked in his breath. “I know I’ve taken up a lot of your time, but I wanted to thank you for not giving up on me. I know my opinion doesn’t matter, but,” he scratched the back of his head, steeling himself, “but I just…I wouldn’t want anyone else leading me.”   
Later, when Ping was forcing himself into a restless sleep, he recalled it had been rainy that day.


	4. Chapter 4

The trek to Rin village had been stressful. For Ping. When he wasn't shrugging off smiles from Fuu, glances from Shang or a grin from Mushu, Ling and Yao were always there.

"So Ping," Ling hung one lanky arm around the shorter male's shoulders as Yao walked on his left, "tell us about this Fuu guy. He a friend of yours?"

Ping held back a sigh. "You…could say that. He lived in my village for a while before moving on with his nomadic parents. We did have some fun times together as kids." And we kissed, but no-one really needs to know that.

Yao grunted. "He looks like a cocky one to me. And what's with those eyes?"

"Maybe he's a changeling."

Ping picked up his ears. "A what?"

Ling turned serious. "A changeling. I've heard tales that when the Huns invaded the north, they would leave children and mothers with no home or husband. And so, the widows would take their children to a protected village and steal another woman's child, replacing it with her own infant and taking the wife's child with them. The children that were given a new home were called changelings, and had green eyes and were able to talk with animals and spirits."

Ping snorted and shrugged off Ling's arm. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard yet. Changelings aren't real things. Besides, his foster parents never had a child. Though they did find Fuu in a deserted town up north."

"Maybe it's witchcraft."

"Maybe his parents had green eyes." Ping argued in a mocking voice.

Ling raised his hands peacefully. "All I'm saying is, he looks funny with those eyes and that hair."

Ping narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't worry about how a man looks and instead focus on how he acts."

He quickened his pace and gained a distance from the trio, feeling irritated. So what if Fuu looked different? So he didn't have straight hair and brown eyes like most did. Ping only knew Fuu for a handful of time, but he had learned enough about him to know that he was, at heart, a wholesome, selfless person, if a bit too carefree at times.

"I know what this is really about," an inhuman whisper sounded in his ear and he stiffened.

"What do you want, Mushu?"

"You see yourself in him. You two are the same."

Ping tried to get a glimpse of the tiny dragon hiding in his armor but found that it would look strange if he were to start conversing with his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Pingy. He's probably gotten as much strife for those eyes and hair as you have for your…well, less-than-manly attributes." Ping could hear Mushu sharpening his claws. "He might prove to be your best ally when you need someone to watch your back."

"Maybe," Ping muttered, craning his neck to get a faraway look at Fuu riding next to Shang on his spotted horse. "But Shang is—"

"Shang," Mushu interrupted, "is your captain, a noble blood, and a high-standing citizen. You really believe that the two of you could have a future together?" Mushu ignored Ping's bashful sputtering and stormed on. "What do you think is going to happen, hm? That when, and if, the two of you make it out of the war, you'll meet up in his chambers and spend your days together?

"Let me lay it out for you, Ping. Saying that you both survive, he will go on to work for the emperor's army, marry a chosen women and settle down with a family. You will return home and pine about what could have been as you help your mother in the marketplace, eventually get pressured into marrying a girl of your standing, and forced into having kids.

"There's no good ending to this ridiculous little affair. You should end it before you lose yourself."

So saying, Ping felt him slither out of his clothes and sneak back into the carriage.

Ping suddenly felt very cold, and he didn't think it was the altitude.


	5. Chapter 5

Ping was in trouble. He knew it, and yet he did not panic. One reason was that it was too beautiful a night to worry about his family being dishonored, or getting his own head shot though with an arrow during a battle, or his father stoning him to death. Instead, he sat by his lonesome outside of the camp (past regulated hours), and watched the unmoving, cold stars.

He blamed Fuu.

Growing up, Ping was shy, quiet, and insecure about his size. The other boys—and even the girls his age and older—teased him and left him out of every game they played. The boys would throw sticks and stones at him, and call him names. This was how Ping attained his climbing skills; he would simply scurry up the nearest tree, perching so high up the others dare not try to reach him.

One day he was chased to a large pear tree in full bloom and clawed his way to a comfortable fork in the thick branches where he waited out the boys' teasing and abusing fists. Usually he would sit (or lay or lean or stand/lean) quietly and study the clouds, or pick various leaves and debris to make is own bird nest or crown.

Even after this particular group of boys had long since left, Ping stayed in the tree, sulking. He watched a pair of sparrows interact before flying off into the very blue sky.

"Hey, kid."

His entire body jumped and he just barely caught himself from falling. He looked behind him and up towards the top to see a slightly older boy staring down at him. The first thing Ping noticed were his foreign green eyes and curly black hair, giving him an alien appearance (at least to Ping he looked like an alien). The second was the squirrel on his shoulder, fidgeting with a nut.

The alien crossed his arms defiantly. "This is my tree. No one else is allowed up here but Tintin." Ping assumed the squirrel was Tintin.

"I-I'm sorry," Ping stammered out. "I—"

It was then that he saw the large book tucked under the alien's arm and the ink smudges on his fingers. Ping tilted his head to the side. "Were you drawing?"

The strange boy narrowed his eyes warily. "Yes….so?"

Ping fidgeted uncomfortably. "What were you drawing?"

The alien pursed his lips and slowly lowered himself to Ping's level, just a branch away. "Why do you care?"

"Uh…no reason….I just like art, I guess."

The boy let out a thoughtful hum and handed Ping the book. Ping nervously took it and opened it to the first page.

Fuu was a fantastic artist. Sketching, drawing and painting were his strong suits. He enjoyed drawing streams and puddles the most, but also captured many animals—mostly birds and dogs—on paper.

He took Ping to all his favorite spots to sit and draw; they were usually secluded and out of town, and Ping realized that he must be alone a lot. Just like him. Ping found out that his real name was Fuujin Toji, but he made his parents call him Fuu. His parents were craftsman that could make or fix anything from a shoe sole to a horseshoe to a prized teapot. They moved around annually, and found Fuu one cloudy morning while in Mongolia, in the remainders of a raid on a village. They wagered that by now Fuu was about thirteen years of age—just two more than Ping.

Fuu was very talkative—he even got Ping to talk about his fascination with animals and puzzles, and watched in wonder whilst Ping solved a tangram puzzle in just a few minutes. He then provoked Ping to laugh when he threw the rings down in frustration and stalked away.

One summer evening, while they were relaxing after a day of swimming, Ping asked Fuu why he seemed so sad. Fuu didn't answer, just slowly turned his head towards Ping and gave his eyes a searching, quizzical stare.

In an instant his lips connected with Ping's, his hands on Ping's shoulders. Ping was frozen, and didn't move or breathe. After a few seconds Fuu drew back and studied the younger boy's face. He moved in to do it again.

Ping snapped out of his trance and whipped his fist back, slapping it across Fuu's face, hard. In that heartbeat he felt both awful about striking his friend but also relieved that he had a chance to stand, spin on his heels, and run away. He heard Fuu calling his name, but confusion made him run straight home and to bed, where he declined any dinner on account of a bad stomachache.

The next three days Fuu came to his house every morning and evening, but Ping always managed to avoid him by climbing out the window and hiding. He didn't dare tell his mother or grandmother what had happened.

One day, Fuu didn't come. Ping felt strangely disappointed and walked to his house to peek in the window.

It was completely empty. No tables, no mats, no tools or work benches. He found out later that they had moved to another town were business was better. After Fuu left, Ping tried to draw the same stream Fuu always did.

His tears kept making the lines all runny.


	6. Chapter 6

The fire was found to be an accident. The soldiers couldn't find any matches or flints near the cart to start the fire, meaning that perhaps one of the canons had spilled some powder and resulted in a small explosion. But Ping knew better.  
The next morning after Mushu's interruption (to which Ping could feel his ears burning whenever he remembered it) he found the small dragon preparing himself a breakfast of field mice and rice.  
"Morning, Pingy boy!" Mushu greeted in his usual cheery and sarcastic way. "The chef mad tofu noodles for breakfast today! You better hurry before that big boy Chien-Po gets to the pot!" Ping just stared through narrowed eyes. Mushu stopped sprinkling spice over his mice and met his eye.  
"Something wrong, Fa Ping?"  
Ping held his stare steadily. "Nothing at all, Guardian Mushu."  
Ping grabbed his tunic and under armor and got dressed outside his tent. Everything seemed to go normal—tents were being put away, carts stocked up and supplies accounted for—when the farmer's younger sons came running up the dirt path, waving their arms. The farmer and Shang went to meet them just as a small group of people—soldiers, by the looks of their armor and helmets—came moving up the path. Intrigued, Ping gathered around the Captain with the other men and listen to the twins boys talk in excited voices. "It's the Jin Zai! The Jin Zai!"  
"They're scouting around, looking for—"  
"More volunteers for the war against the Mongolians and—"  
"We were wondering if—"  
"No," came their father's firm reply. "Both of you are too young. And your older brothers are already serving, remember?"  
"The Jin Zai?" Ping asked Shang with raised eyebrows. Shang smiled and made Ping blush too easily.  
"The Jin Zai is a group of soldiers put together by the traveling merchants of China who have been victimized by the Huns. They are quiet capable. They may be a valuable asset to us…"  
He looked away as his talk faded, view focused thoughtfully on the approaching men. Shang's own men arranged themselves in formation and awaited their arrival. The group consisted of ten men, with one tall male out in front, a helmet covering his face. Shang met them with a slight bow. The group came to a halt and the man in front stepped toward him and gave a lower how back. As he straightened up he removed his headdress, revealing dark, curly hair and bright green eyes.  
Ping gave a start.  
"Captain Shang, it is an honor to meet you. I am Fuujin Toji. My men are scouting this area for more recruits…but our efforts are failed, I'm afraid. Where are you off to?"  
"My men and I are need out on the front. It seems our troops are being overwhelmed by the Hun forces. Where is your next station?"  
Fuujin shook his head. "Our entire force has settled north, outside of Rin village. We are indecisive on our next move." He took out a rag and wiped the sweat off his brow. Ping studied his features extensively, noting his sharp chin, covered in stubble, how broad his face was and how his ears still slightly stuck out. "Personally, I'm all for heading out to the front…but there are three other captains to deal with."  
Shang tapped his chin. "Do you think that a few words from me might convince them otherwise?"  
Fuujin grinned. "I think that would serve to be an impassable argument for them."  
"I've never seen the captain hit it off with someone so quickly," Ling commented, startling Ping.  
Ping shrugged. He felt the need to greet a long-lost friend conflicting with his shy attribute, feeling a strange sense of nervousness. What happened between Fuu and him was a long time ago, and yet Ping felt the betrayal and loneliness rising back up. He made to get away right as Fuujin lifted his eyes to scan the men and landed on Ping, watching him from afar.  
Ping watched as his expression went from confused to surprise to absolutely overjoyed. Ping felt rooted in place as Fuu pushed past Shang and exclaimed, "Ping!" The boyish smile he was sporting made Ping smile back and take a few steps forward to meet him. He waved sheepishly. "H-hello, Fuu."  
He was not prepared for the running tackle that came after that.  
Fuujin lifted him up in a bear hug and talked fifty miles a minute as Shang and the other men watched, jaws dropped. "Fuu, FUU!" Ping yelled as he laughed nervously, feeling his captain's piercing look. Fuu had gotten much taller. "Put me down!" When he finally did, indeed, place Ping back on the ground, Shang had quietly joined them. "So you two know each other?" He asked dryly, earlier friendliness gone. Ping felt unease at the captain's tone.  
"Ping and I go way back," Fuu informed him brightly, his eyes never leaving Ping's face. "We lived in the same village for a while before I moved away and…oh, never mind that! So tiny Ping joined the army, hm? Well, captain, how is he as a soldier? He always had great aim when we threw rocks at the fish. And the heights this boy could climb to, amazing! He made the birds jealous!"  
He would have kept chattering if one of his men hadn't stepped forward awkwardly to say, "Er, sir, the others are expecting us by nightfall…we should leave soon…"  
Fuu waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes. You're right." His silly smile had vanished and he turned to Shang with the same air of aloof authority as before. "Well then, Captain Shang, shall we head off? We know how to get back to our base without passing through the slow towns and farming fields."  
Shang's voice was tight as he replied, "Lead the way, Captain Fuujin."  
"Please, call me Fuu!" He winked at Ping. "We'll have to catch up later, Ping."  
He turned and walked away, calling out orders. Ping heaved a big sigh. "Suddenly I feel very tired," he remarked with a smile. He turned to look at Shang and found the older man watching him with an inscrutable expression. "W-what?"  
Shang lowered his shoulders and gave his head a quick pat. "Nothing."  
He too walked away, leaving Ping feeling confused and overwhelmed. He heard a chuckle from his tent and saw Mushu smirking, giving a small wave before disappearing.


	7. Chapter 7

The trek to Rin village had been stressful. For Ping. When he wasn't shrugging off smiles from Fuu, glances from Shang or a grin from Mushu, Ling and Yao were always there.  
"So Ping," Ling hung one lanky arm around the shorter male's shoulders as Yao walked on his left, "tell us about this Fuu guy. He a friend of yours?"  
Ping held back a sigh. "You…could say that. He lived in my village for a while before moving on with his nomadic parents. We did have some fun times together as kids." And we kissed, but no-one really needs to know that.  
Yao grunted. "He looks like a cocky one to me. And what's with those eyes?"  
"Maybe he's a changeling."  
Ping picked up his ears. "A what?"  
Ling turned serious. "A changeling. I've heard tales that when the Huns invaded the north, they would leave children and mothers with no home or husband. And so, the widows would take their children to a protected village and steal another woman's child, replacing it with her own infant and taking the wife's child with them. The children that were given a new home were called changelings, and had green eyes and were able to talk with animals and spirits."  
Ping snorted and shrugged off Ling's arm. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard yet. Changelings aren't real things. Besides, his foster parents never had a child. Though they did find Fuu in a deserted town up north."  
"Maybe it's witchcraft."  
"Maybe his parents had green eyes." Ping argued in a mocking voice.  
Ling raised his hands peacefully. "All I'm saying is, he looks funny with those eyes and that hair."  
Ping narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't worry about how a man looks and instead focus on how he acts."  
He quickened his pace and gained a distance from the trio, feeling irritated. So what if Fuu looked different? So he didn't have straight hair and brown eyes like most did. Ping only knew Fuu for a handful of time, but he had learned enough about him to know that he was, at heart, a wholesome, selfless person, if a bit too carefree at times.  
"I know what this is really about," an inhuman whisper sounded in his ear and he stiffened.  
"What do you want, Mushu?"  
"You see yourself in him. You two are the same."  
Ping tried to get a glimpse of the tiny dragon hiding in his armor but found that it would look strange if he were to start conversing with his shoulder. "What do you mean?"  
"Think about it, Pingy. He's probably gotten as much strife for those eyes and hair as you have for your…well, less-than-manly attributes." Ping could hear Mushu sharpening his claws. "He might prove to be your best ally when you need someone to watch your back."  
"Maybe," Ping muttered, craning his neck to get a faraway look at Fuu riding next to Shang on his spotted horse. "But Shang is—"  
"Shang," Mushu interrupted, "is your captain, a noble blood, and a high-standing citizen. You really believe that the two of you could have a future together?" Mushu ignored Ping's bashful sputtering and stormed on. "What do you think is going to happen, hm? That when, and if, the two of you make it out of the war, you'll meet up in his chambers and spend your days together?  
"Let me lay it out for you, Ping. Saying that you both survive, he will go on to work for the emperor's army, marry a chosen women and settle down with a family. You will return home and pine about what could have been as you help your mother in the marketplace, eventually get pressured into marrying a girl of your standing, and forced into having kids.  
"There's no good ending to this ridiculous little affair. You should end it before you lose yourself."  
So saying, Ping felt him slither out of his clothes and sneak back into the carriage.  
Ping suddenly felt very cold, and he didn't think it was the altitude.


End file.
